Films About Ghosts
by isawsparks
Summary: Third season speculation. Angsty and intense.
1. All Fires

_all fires must burn a life to live._

-----------------

These marks seep far beneath the surface. You know these indents and bruises will still cover you one week from now. Painted across your soft flesh. Burned inside your perfect skin. These bruises run like a river deep inside you.

You wish they were hickies. You wish that was her intention. But you know better. You knew better as she bit down. As she cried out.

She flawed you. She stained you. And if she could, she'd make her marks permanent.

She'd make them into scars that would forever scuff your perfectly polished body. Because that's what you did to her. Except your marks scar further inside.

Yours ripped right through her fresh beating heart.

_"Then just decide!"_

It's all that's played through your head. It's on repeat, and the needle never skips.

It's what carried you to her house. You didn't know where else to go. You didn't know what else to do. You stood before her door. Afraid. Unsure. Like so many times before.

So different from before.

You remembered the last time you made these same steps. The last time you came to apologize.

_"I want you. And I don't want to hurt you."_

You suddenly laughed. Bitterly. You laughed at how selfish you were then. And how selfish you are now.

You laughed at such a cryptic truth.

_I don't want to hurt you._

You disguised what you'd really do with an empty promise.

And she believed it. She believed your act. The smoke and mirrors worked. She only saw the promise. She believed you wouldn't hurt her.

She believed you promised you wouldn't.

And you wish you could have made that promise. You wish you'd never hurt her. You honestly never wanted to.

But you knew better.

You, honestly, knew you would.

You weren't laughing when the door pulled back. You weren't anything as her hugged body stood in the empty frame. She held onto herself so protectively. In the same way she did back then. She hung her head the same way. She avoided you the same. So much was the same you almost heard the same words.

_"Why would you do that?"_

But this wasn't the same and you knew it. You knew this was so different. This wasn't about your apologies. This wasn't about what happened at prom. You were supposed to be here for a much bigger reason.

But, inside, you knew prom really was your reason. It was everything.

And you hated yourself for it.

She looked at you with swollen and dried eyes, before turning inside. Leaving the door open, you heard her walk upstairs. Whether she meant it as an invitation, you didn't care, you took it as one and followed her.

You masked your guilty steps inside her distraught ones. Mirroring her sorrow.

You hated yourself more.

Her house was quiet. Her house was still. Her house was too eerie.

Everything was the same after everything had changed. It unnerved you. You shook your head.

This wasn't about you.

A phone rang as she shut the door.

You noticed no one answered it.

"Where is everyone?"

You chanced normal conversation and it stung you. It burnt you, because this wasn't what you should be doing. This wasn't about making things better for you.

And yet, deep down, you knew it was.

She shrugged, back towards you. "Mom and dad are at the funeral home. I don't know where Glen is..." her head turned slightly, just slightly.

She breathed deep. She closed her eyes. She faced you. She looked inside. And for just one second you saw her as you've always known her. You saw her looking to you like she always used to.

She needed help. She needed support. She needed love.

And she needed it from you.

She needed promises, whether they were empty or not, and you, of course, would give her them. Once again, you'd selfishly give her nothing, masked in everything.

"Oh Spence..." You gasped, taking her body in your arms. "...I'm so sorry..." you whispered against her motionless body. You felt slight relief as her face burrowed into your bare neck.

She remained there right inside you. Never farther away.

Her voice broke against your skin. "He's really gone..."

Finally you made your decision.

And you hated yourself, because you finally realized you never needed to make one. This was never a choice. And it should have never seemed like it was.

Because it's always been her.

"I'm here, Spence..." your arms held her tighter as she did the same, as her arms told you you were allowed "...I'm right here."

"No..." so softly whispered "...no you're not."

You pulled back. It wasn't an accusation. It was a hurt acceptance. It was her seeing through the smoke and mirrors. It was her begging _"Oh please, please don't do this." _

And it was her believing you were already doing _this_.

"Of course I'm here, I'm right here, Spence" you held her tighter, you needed her to see that you loved her.

_"I decide who I love."_

See that she was who you chose.

"I'm always going to be here. Always."

And then you did it. You made another promise. You wanted it to be true. This time you would make sure of it. But it was too late. She already saw too much. She already saw through you.

And she didn't believe you.

"Oh you're here, Ashley? Is that where you've been?"

She was choking on her words as she stepped away from you.

"Clay was shot five days ago!" Her voice shrieked.

_"Then just decide!"_ rang in your ears.

"Clay died five days ago..." her head shook, her strength crumbled, her walls fell "...and I'm only seeing you now. How the hell can you say you're here, that you'll ALWAYS be here, when this is the first time I've seen you since that night!"

"I..." you stuttered, you stumbled "...I didn't think you wanted to see me."

You weakly, selfishly replied. You knew better. And so did she.

"Ashley..." with one word she shattered everything inside you because you knew what would come next.

"...you were the only person I wanted to see."

Silence fell over you. Silence fell over everything. The phone rang again.

"You...were..the ONLY one I wanted to see." She annunciated every word. Each syllable. "I needed you Ashley." Tears strangled her.

"...I need you." She whispered a truth she didn't want to admit.

You walked closer to her. Taking the same steps you made towards her front door. Not knowing what to do but going the only place you knew.

"I'm so sorry."

Her shaking head hung love. She didn't need you. She didn't want you.

But you knew better. You knew she did want you. She did need you. So you moved closer.

"I am so so sorry Spencer."

You meant the words. Those words. They were not empty. Those apologies were true. You gave them everything inside you.

She kept shaking. Tears slipped so quickly from her cheeks. Your hands timidly reached for her arms.

You held her. You unwound her.

Carefully, so carefully, you unraveled her.

And between your strong arms, she shook, she broke.

She let you in.

"Please, Ash..." She whispered into your neck. Her hands desperately clenched your tank top. "...I need you. I need you so badly."

You knew what she was asking. You knew what she wanted. What she needed.

And this time, you knew you could give it to her.

You nodded, as if she needed an answer. You softly whispered "I'm here Spence."

As if she'd believe you.

You held her. She gripped you. You kissed her. She smothered you. You wanted her. She needed you.

Suddenly she gave you all you needed.

She unraveled.

She unwound.

She let go.

She let go of everything.

And she threw it all onto you.

She was primal. She was rough. She was like she never was.

She threw you to her bed. The bed where it was always silent. Always secretive.

You heard memories of her playful giggling.

_"Shhh...Ash..."_

Lost innocent whispers.

_"...we need to be quiet."_

But that was forever ago. That was a different life. That was when you thought getting caught was the worst that could happen.

That's when you both naively believed it was.

But now you knew the truth. You both knew. Now you were going through the worst.

And she wasn't quiet.

She wrapped her arms possessively around you. She clenched her teeth into your necks flawless skin. And for just a moment, one moment you remembered making love in this bed. You remembered her soft kisses across your chest.

You remembered her delicacy.

You remembered who she was.

Your remembered who she'd never be again.

The tears flowed when you remembered. The tears mixed with hers.

She straddled your captive vacant body. She ground into your waist. She growled and wept. She ripped your clothes.

She held you tight. She strangled you harder with desperate hands around your shaking body.

And you let her. You let her scratch her nails down your back. You let her brand you with her pain.

You let her remind you with those trails. With those tracks and cuts she etched into your skin. She was hurt. She was shattered. And she wasn't going to let you forget one simple fact.

You were the reason.

_"I__ don't want any more drama._"

You did this.

You froze in her possession. You were what she wanted you to be. Whatever she wanted, you let her use you for it.

She grabbed your hand. She thrust it inside her boxers that were once yours. You noticed and wanted to smile. Wanted to embrace that she still wore them.

But you couldn't. You knew better.

Harsh tears rolled down your cheeks instead.

Your fingers were motionless inside her underwear.

"Please" whispered inside your ear.

_"Then just decide!"_ Screamed inside your heart.

You were her puppet, and she was pulling, grasping at the strings. She was shaking your every limb, hoping you'd go exactly where she needed you to.

"Please, Ash..."

She didn't need to ask again, and you didn't want her to. Your fingers filled her. Your fingers easily slid inside.

For a single moment, you felt that familiar satisfaction. That pleasure in finding her beyond ready.

You were happy you still made her wet.

And then you cried because of it. You cried for being so selfish.

This wasn't about you.

So you made it about her. Everything for her. You pushed inside her. Just like you've always done. Soft and slow at first. Inching inside with nothing but love and care. Making sure your rhythm was built upon nothing else.

"Faster" she urged through gritted teeth as her hips thrusted into your hand, showing you she meant it.

It stopped you. It threw you. She wanted you to break her.

But you knew better.

You knew she wanted to break you more.

So you listened. You obeyed.

Because this was about her.

So you whimpered when she clawed at your back. You gasped when she bit your lips. You weren't surprised when you tasted the blood. You closed your eyes as she breathed harder.

And as she wept into your shoulder, you wept with her.

You hated how wrong this felt.

But you hated how right this felt more.

You hated knowing just where to touch. Where to kiss. How to maker her beg for more. You hated knowing just when to curl your fingers. Knowing exactly when she was begging for more.

Because this wasn't her. This wasn't who you knew and loved. She was different, yet everything you knew still worked.

And you hated it.

You hated that you caused this.

But what you hated most.

You were still the one, the only one, she needed.

She bucked against you. Strangled cries filled the air. Moans that once encouraged were now begging for more than just release.

They were begging for everything. Begging for the pain to leave her. For you to still be hers. For Clay to still be alive.

For life to go back to the way it was.

She was begging for the impossible.

It was you she was begging it from.

And for once, you did what you knew you should. You did what you knew was honest.

You held her tighter. Closer. You whispered in her ear, you whispered louder than you ever have.

"I love you Spencer. I love you so much. I love you. I love you."

It was your mantra. Your prayer. Your oath.

She was your choice.

And you wanted her to believe you. You needed her to.

But you knew better.

This wasn't about you.

This was about her.

So you gave her all of you. You gave her everything she needed.

And you made no promises.


	2. High & Dry

_"you broke another mirror.  
you're turning into something you are not."_

_------------------ _

Your mom won't stop crying. She sleeps alone beneath a tissue blanket every night. And your dad wraps her inside it. He keeps her close while he keeps his whiskey closer, sleeping through every day with wide eyes.

Your brother's never around. You don't know what keeps him safe. What wraps around him. All you know is your brother runs and lifts and pushes Clays empty, untouched, bedroom farther and farther away.

All you know is everyone is numb. Everyone is gone.

Everyone but you. You're not. You're right there, one door down, sleeping in your own Kleenex bed. Your big salty tears spell out a name. They scribble letters down your red cheeks. And it's killing you. It's ripping you apart.

Because they don't spell Clay. They don't belong to him.

They belong to her. Your emptiness spells Ashley.

And it suffocates you.

_"I love you. I love you. I love you."_

It plays and replays over and over again. Her cries inside your chest. Her blood in your mouth. Her skin beneath your nails. 

It was five days ago that you tore her apart. When you grabbed her between your hands, and threatened to never give her back. She was yours, and not because you loved her, not because you needed her.

But because you deserved her. You deserved everything she let you take.

_  
"More."_

"Faster."

"More."

"Harder."

"More."

You grunted. Whimpered. Panted and pleaded. No matter how hard she worked or deep she pushed, you needed more. You wished for it. Over and over again in her ear. It wasn't working, you wanted to break, you wanted to feel it in your bones. And she didn't even make a dent. You almost believed she hadn't. But your body told you otherwise. The next morning, your beaten down and aching frame reminded you that that void would not be filled.

No matter how far Ashely thrusted herself inside you. No matter how hard she tried, it wouldn't work, and your sore body knows the reason. Your worn body tells you she only made things worse.

She only stretched your emptiness further.

And maybe that's why she's called you everyday since.

Maybe it's the reason you haven't picked up.

But that's not the reason, and you know it. You know why you've avoided Ashley, running away from the one person you want. You've pushed away the one person you need the most, for that simple reason. She's the person you need and you need too much. You need to see her. You need to hold her. You need to hear her. You need her to hold you.

And you're tired of needing.

_"If I lose her, I don't have anything."_

When did this happen? When did you lose yourself? When did Ashley become everything?

_"I can take care of myself...and with some left over to take care of you."_

When did things switch? When did you go from caring about yourself, caring for you both, to finally only caring about her?

You wonder if she ever made the same deal. You wonder if she ever tried the same balancing act.

_"You're not alone, I'm not going anywhere."_

You said those words, so long ago. You said them when she needed to hear them. When she needed everything and you gave it to her. Because you wanted to. Because you'd give her everything, even if she never asked.

She was never alone. You were always there. She always knew it. You gave her everything, and she never gave it back.

And you wonder if that's why she let you destroy her. 

You wonder so much. But not about why you ripped her apart. Not about prom. Not about who she really loves.

No, you wonder far worse.

You wonder if she misses you like you miss her. You wonder if she wonders if you're ok. You wonder if she looks at those ribbon wrapped bruises.

And you wonder if she sees your name on the card.

You hope she sees what those bruises really are. You hope she sees her own gifts rewrapped inside a bigger box. And you hope she can see your apologies. You hope she knows them without having to hear the words.

Because she's not going to hear them from you. Because you're still not sure you're that sorry.

You only know you're supposed to be.

So you keep wondering. You wonder and wonder to the point that you're answering your own questions. You're creating her answers inside your own head.

And you're not liking what you're coming up with.

So this morning, when Ash flashed across your eyes, you answered. You whispered hello. You held your breath. You were ready to stop wondering.

_"I thought maybe, um, maybe you might wanna hang out?"_

She was nervous. She was concerned. And you were still wondering. So you agreed. You agreed, and now you're here, inside Glen's car pulling inside her driveway.

"So, you know, just text me when you're ready."

_"Look I'm your brother, I'm supposed to watch out for you. If someone's getting out of hand, I need to know."_

He said those words the last time his car rolled anywhere near this house. You remember his concern, you remember hating it. You didn't need anyone looking out for you. Especially when it came to Ashley.

But today, you wish he were concerned. Today he should be looking out for you.

And then you wish you weren't so selfish. Because today, you should be looking out for him.

"Thanks Glen."

He leaves you with a wordless smile and you wonder why you didn't stay inside the car. You wonder why you're not spending time with someone who needs you for someone who probably doesn't.

For someone who may or may not even want you.

Her house is empty and silent, as always, and for once it comforts you. It feels good to feel familiar. You can hear music playing in her room. You can smell the lavender-to-match-her-bed candles burning. And suddenly familiar doesn't feel so good. Suddenly familiar's too familiar.

When you reach her door, you don't even knock. You never have in the past, and this can't be the day you start. It just can't. So you walk inside that all too familiar room, and find her curled inside her bed. Like you've found her so many times before.

When she sees you she whispers. She whispers "hey you" as if she doesn't want to wake someone up. You wonder if she believes that someone is you because you feel like it is.

And you wonder why you whisper "hey" back.

Everything becomes so still. The music becomes so loud. The candles burn too bright. This all feels too familiar. And you hate it. This shouldn't feel right. You shouldn't have to remember so much good when you're filled with so much pain.

You shouldn't have to remember all you had when all you have is nothing now.

Her nose and eyes wrinkle with concern, "How are you?"

You think for a minute, hearing a ghost whisper _"Please have the brains to not ask me how I am."_

But you ignore it. That's not you. That's her. So you bite your lip. You hopelessly nod your head. You wearily give her the truth. "not too good."

Tears sneak out the windows of your eyes and you see her hesitant, with a river threatening to push through her dam. You see her begging to hold you, and you know it's not long till the walls crack. She stands from her bed, taking one slow step, before the water rushes through and you're between her arms.

"Oh Spencer, I'm so sorry." She whispers into your neck, and each word cuts through every tear dropping from your cheeks. You hold her. You tie your fingers behind her back, closing her off with your own lock.

Grasping on to everything you had. Hiding it. Hoping the nothing you have now never finds it.

"I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

You hear your own words. You hear everything you need to hear. You feel everything you need to feel. She's giving you everything you need.

But it's everything you needed five days ago.

_"You already had your chance with Ashley!"_

And you realize, your chance is running up too. She's right there, between your arms, and all you feel is her slipping away.

You don't want to wonder. You don't want to second guess.

_"I don't want to have to ask her to choose."_

You don't want it to be a choice. It should have never been a choice. Because it was never one for you.

"I miss you Spencer. I miss you so much. God, I love you so much, and I'm so sorry I made you doubt it. I want you. Only you."

But it's too late. She's ten days too late. But it's more than that. She's weeks late. She's months late. You've been second guessing her for so long, you can't even remember the last time you were sure of her.

_"I'm out of your life, I need to figure out mine."_

And then you remember. You remember, Spencer. You remember her being enough. You remember when she was all you needed. And you don't want to only remember anymore. You want to feel her. Know her. You want to be her, and you know you can't find her here. Like this. Between these arms.

You can't find Spencer when you're with Ashley.

So you pull away. You look inside her nervous eyes. You crumble. You quiver. You still don't know if you can do this. You still don't know if you're ready for goodbye. But you know, whether you're ready or not, you have no other choice.

"I..." you inhale a shaky breath "...I can't do this."

And like that it's started. The ball's been packed, goodbye's ready to roll, and you just pushed it over the edge.

"Spencer, please, please don't say that, we can do-"

"No Ashley. We can't." [_You already had your chance with Ashley!_ "We had our chance. You had your chance. But you blew it. You had me, Ash, and you lost me."

You look at her shaking before you. You see her hugging her own body. You see her more bruised, battered, beaten up than she was five days ago.

You see your words cutting her deeper than any marks your teeth or nails could have scarred her with.

And it makes you look down to your feet. It turns you away. Because you can't see her hurting. You can't see her falling apart. You can't see her needing you.

_"I'm not going to let you push me away, not now, not when you're hurting like this."_

Because you'll only give her everything she needs. You'll only give her everything you need.

And once again, you'll be left with nothing.

"I know Spencer, I know I was an idiot. I know I was a fucking idiot. I know and I'll never stop saying I'm sorry. Because I can't lose you. I can't..." she hiccups and you hear her breaking down inside it, "...I just can't. Please give me another chance. You have to give me another chance Spencer. Give me another chance to make it up to you. To make it right. Please let me prove to you, that I will never hurt you like that again."

You brace yourself and finally look at her. You see her and you see it. In those eyes, you see her promises. The same ones she made so long ago.

_"I don't want to hurt you."_

"I love you Ashley..." you say it clearly and you look straight inside her wet eyes "...but I don't believe you."

Her tears would break your heart. Her quivering lips would push you backwards. Her sadness would make you second guess. But you see her eyes, and those eyes, they never lie. Her eyes tell you she knows you're right.

So you hold her. You breathe in everything you had. You feel everything familiar. And you let her go.

You turn around and walk away. Your steps take you farther away from her. And she doesn't even chase after you. She doesn't even try to stop you. No, she lets you go. She lets you go easily and it only makes going harder. You still want to be wanted. You still want to be needed. You still want everything you once had. And you still don't want to lose it.

So when you close that door. When you leave it all behind. When you leave her behind. You whisper goodbye.

You whisper goodbye so softly.

Because you're still afraid someone might wake up.

And you're still wondering why. 


	3. A Lack of Color

_i'm reaching for the phone  
to call at 7:03  
and on your machine  
i slur a plea for you to come home  
but i know it's too late  
i should have given you a reason to stay_

------

Summer's here, school's out, and I should be at the beach. I should be out partying.

I should be living the easy life.

But I'm not living that life. I'm nowhere near it. I'm inside my air conditioned room. Sleeping inside my empty bed. And I'm dreaming.

Summer's here and I'm thinking. I'm thinking more than I ever have in any class. More than I ever have in any school year.

Summer's here and I'm thinking of you, Spence.

Only you.

I dream so many dreams. I think so many thoughts. Over and over again. The tiny chip in your bottom tooth. Your favorite red hoodie. The scar on your right knee. All these little thoughts with your name on them. These little thoughts, they're everything. I'm reliving you. I'm reliving us. Pulling through the pages like photos in a scrap book. These thoughts are my scrapbook. They are my collage. Our memories, they are the pictures. And you, Spencer, you are the glue that holds it all together.

You are the glue that held me together.

And now, that you're gone, the pictures are cracking. The corners are curling. I'm rushing to pin them down with my sweaty fingers. Smearing and botching them up, desperately trying to save them. Because I can't lose them.

I can't lose you, Spence. I can't lose us. I can't lose who I am when I'm with you. So much of you has been tied inside me. You're ingrained there Spence, so deep.

And without your threads, I unravel. I fall apart.

I am falling apart.

I miss it. I miss you. I miss you so much. I miss what we had. I miss what we had before we became a we.

I miss when it was just us inside here, inside this room. All those lazy days, all those restless nights. All the time spent learning about each other. Learning who we were. Learning what we could be.

I always thought you were the one learning. I always thought I was was the one teaching.

But I know differently now. I know I had it all wrong. Now that I'm alone again, inside this room, I realize I was the one learning. I was the one changing. My eyes were opened. I am changed. I'm a different person. I'm a better person.

And it's because of you. It's always been because of you.

It's been six weeks since you walked out that door. Since you left me shaking and crumbling inside this bed. My tears have run dry since. I'm all cried out, living through the driest drought in the hottest summer. I'm fading Spence, I can feel it. And I'm so afraid, I'm so afraid that one day I'll disappear.

And then you'll never find me.

We haven't seen each other since school ended. But even during those final two weeks after prom, after our break up, I hardly saw you. You were always good at avoiding me. I was always good at chasing after you.

And this time was no different.

I conveniently placed my steps inside every right hall. I passed your locker at every perfect moment. Because I knew your every classroom and I knew your every stop in between. Every water fountain. Every bulletin board. I knew exactly where you'd go and exactly when you'd go there.

But I never stopped you. I never opened my mouth. I was smart enough, I was perceptive enough, to understand what your backside meant. I knew what your hurried steps away from me meant.

You didn't want to see me. You made that clear. You didn't want anything to do with me. I felt it so strongly inside my chest.

So I respected what you wanted. I let you walk away. I let your stomping shoes walk all over my heart. Letting the dirty heels dig inside, completely mucking me up. But the thing is, Spence, if I could, I'd let you run a marathon all over me: If it meant I got to see you.

But I still called you. I called you for so long. Every day. When my brain turned it's back, when my judgment closed its eyes, my heart was right in there, frantically fumbling for your numbers. Frantically fumbling for you.

But you already know that. I don't need to remind you about every ignored call. I don't need to be reminded of all my texts gone unanswered. I know you deleted them as soon as they flashed before your eyes. I'm sure you deleted all my messages from your inbox. I'm sure you've evicted yourself from all my "thinking about you"s.

But I don't think about that. I don't wonder if I'm even in your phone anymore. Because I still believe I am. I won't stop believing "Ash" still lives inside speed dial #1.

Because I need it to. I need it to so I can sleep at night. So I can dream my dreams and see your face. So I can hold that picture of your kissing eyes inside mine.

But that doesn't mean I don't know better. I know I'm not on any speed dial. I know all my voice mails have been deleted. And I know I deserve it. I know you're doing everything I would have wanted you to if I were still your friend. If I were Ashley instead of "Ash".

I know I'd tell you to stay away from me. I'd take you out. I'd get you drunk. And I'd tell you to hit on other girls.

But I can't even think about that. I can't think about you moving on. I can't think of you doing what I'm incapable of.

Six weeks and I can't get back. I can't go back to the girl I used to be. I'm trying so hard to get back there. I've been gunning towards "before Spencer", but with every turn, I've only grown more and more lost.

I really thought I could go back. I thought I could become the "Before Spencer" Ashley. The one who easily forgot and moved on. The one who wouldn't blink an eye before she was up and on to the next one.

The Ashley who could and would get over you.

I thought I'd still fit into the shoes of the girl who trudged through Grays door one night so long ago. The night you went out with Aiden. The night I thought we were over. Funny how we hadn't even begun yet, and I was already grieving over us ending. I was seriously grieving. I was down there, sinking so deep inside my drink. Sinking inside some girl who would never wear your name.

Breaking inside some girl who could never be you.

No one could ever be you. I should have known it that night. I should have realized what I could and would have with you. It should have been going off in bright red lights:

This is going to be good. This is going to be fucking everything. Everything you want. Everything you need. The one thing you can't lose.

But there were no lights, no signs, no warnings and I should have never needed them. I should have seen what shone so brightly before me from the start. It shouldn't have taken you leaving me for the bells to go off. For the world to shout at me:

You messed up. You gave it away. You gave away everything. You gave away too easily. And we won't let you forget it.

Life won't let me forget you, Spencer.

Here I am, in the middle of summer. Living inside my favorite season. And I'm suffocating. I'm living in a season you and I never experienced together. And you're all I can breathe.

I go to Gray. I go to my place. The club I've gone to so many nights before you walked into my world. The place that granted me a new girl night after night. The place I've gone to find solace, to find my old self. To find the Ashley with the act. The one that pushes through those doors and never looks back.

But you know something, Spence? I push through those doors, and I push right back. I turn around. I turn away from that life. From that girl. From my place. Because my place, my club, suddenly, it's our club. Suddenly you're tacked across every wall, you're seated in every chair. Your shampoo's scrubbed across every tile. And your eyes sit inside every face.

You're everywhere. I see you. I see those eyes. I see the way I used to catch them from across the table. Across the bar. Across the room, through the dancing crowd.

Those blue eyes, staring through mine.

Those giggling eyes looking away.

Those scorching eyes coming back to mine.

Full of the same stomach piercing meaning every time.

Follow me.

And I did. Every single time, without hesitation. Sometimes I wouldn't have to go very far. A stride's step inside the bathroom. One breath before you walked me into a stall's wall, the dented door closing us inside. You'd shyly smile, a finger grazing just below my belly button. A finger zigzagging across my skin.

A sly finger searing your sneaky trail deep inside me.

Your eyes would gasp, little miss innocent feigning surprise with her own dirty act. For some reason, it never made me giggle. For some reason it never lightened the mood.

For some reason it only made me need you more. It only made my fingers curl inside the waistband of your jeans, pulling you into me. Taking this teasing act into my own impatient hands.

But you never gave into me. You always lightly kissed my open mouth. Leaning your body ever so carefully against mine. Letting us push against that cold door, feeling the metal goose bump my skin. Feeling your hands so gently hold my hips, fingers splaying beneath my shirt. Your lips fluttering down my neck, sometimes hardly touching my skin, merely letting your breath puff against me. You didn't even have to touch me to drive me crazy.

You only needed to breathe.

You only needed to simply live.

And then you'd leave me with your mark. Just below the neck line of my shirt. Your lips and tongue's temporary tattoo on my skin. Low enough so only I could see it. Low enough so it was meant for only me.

Low enough so only you knew.

Those marks, they've faded. But I still see them. Your love, it's dissipated. But I still feel it. And this is why I haven't been back to Gray in weeks. This is why I've shut myself inside this room.

Inside this bed.

This bed that is worse than any club. This room that is brighter than any Gray. Because this room is ours, and this bed is ours. You're every where inside this room, that "Spencer" should be spray painted over "Ashley". I can not escape you in here Spencer and I haven't even tried to. I don't want to escape you.

I'm drowning myself in our memories, beneath this heavy comforter. I'm smelling you inside these worn in pillows. I'm feeling you in these soft threads.

I'm missing what this bed will never be without you inside it.

But that's not really it.

I'm missing what I'll never be without you inside me.

So I stay inside. I grasp on to that world. The one we built together. But the sun shines so brightly through the blinds. The birds chirp over the hum of the air conditioner. Summer's trying to pull me out, but I'm pulling in. I'm blocking out. It's not like anyone's around to stop me.

It's not like there's anyone to pull me from the darkness.

All I have is myself. All I have are our Sunday mornings.

You remember them, don't you?

My lips sinking into your spine, kissing you awake. Smiling a straight line down your back, as you'd roll over for me. Moaning appreciatively and rasping "morning".

You remember me whispering "I love you Spence", and you remember whispering it back?

I know you remember. You have to.

Because I do. I remember. I dream. I think. Thoughts and thoughts. Over and Over.

Your face burrowing inside my neck every morning. The freckle between your breasts. Your adorable head tilt. How ticklish your stomach is. Your tongue drawing dizzy patterns between my thighs.

I remember everything.

Because your glue still sticks Spencer. Your glue still holds all my broken pieces together. Your glue still keeps the image of us together. All our memories, everything we were, it's all so intact in my brain. It's all right there.

And once again, it's because of you. Even after you've left me, you still keep giving to me.

How could I let you go? How could I have been such an idiot?

I don't think I'll ever know. I don't think I'll ever understand how I slept through your goodbye. I don't know how I froze when the one good thing in my life was walking out of it.

But what I do know, what I know so clearly inside my chest, between these blue walls; I will make you see. I will make you see the person you've changed me into. You will see the "After Spencer" Ashley, and you will love her again. You have to.

Because I still remember, Spencer. I remember everything.

And I don't know if you do or not. I don't know if you lay in your own bed, remembering my kisses. Remembering the curl of my lips. Remembering the dimples on my back.

I don't know if you remember us Spencer.

I don't know if you think our little thoughts.

But I hope you do.

Because I need you to.


	4. Morning Yearning

_a finger's touch upon my lips_  
_it's a morning yearning_  
_pull the curtains shut, try to keep it dark_  
_but the sun is burning_  
_the world awakens on the run_  
_and will soon be earning_  
_with hopes of better days to come_  
_like a summer rose, _  
_i'm a victim of the fall_  
_but am soon returning_

-----------

She shivers through this sweltering summer. Her teeth chatter, her skin chills. The heat doesn't break through. The heat doesn't even leave a mark. The bright sun dances across her heavy shoulders. The sun's warm light only seems to weigh her down.

She's so cold inside. So cold.

But at night, she warms. When the sun finally leaves her, she burns. She radiates through such peaceful nights. When the world stops. When the rooms become so dark. When the streets fall so silent. When the figures are unmoving. When eyes close. When breathing evens.

She comes to life.

These are the moments her world lights up. Her rooms shine. Her eyes see. Her lips breathe.

When no one moves, she does. When no one remembers feeling. She feels. She feels so much.

And she remembers. Oh does she remember.

So completely.

Everything.

So perfectly

But you'll never know that. You'll never know about her empty days. You'll never know her full nights.

Because you are what she dreams. Every night. You are what she feels. Everywhere. You come to her in the dark, and you light it up. You whisper inside her bed, and fill the spaces of the cracked window inside her heart. You fill her up and she remembers.

She remembers all she can't forget.

Her truth pushes past her lies. Her truth covers what she pretends. What she hides.

She awakens in her sleep. She lives in her dreams.

And she'll never admit it. She still doesn't realize it.

She says she wishes she could escape these nights. She tells herself those quiet hours are torture. She thinks she knows she'd be ok without them. She almost believes she would.

But what she knows, what she really knows, is that those hours are her savior. What she believes, what she truly believes, is that the hardest part is waking up. What she feels, undeniably every morning, is emptiness.

What she understands, more than anything, is that torture, heartbreaking torture, is waking up without you.

And you'll never know.

You'll never know those seconds, when her eyes open. You'll never feel the eternity between the moments that it takes her to realize. The excruciating moment when her arms feel nothing but themselves. When the space next to her becomes overwhelmingly empty.

You'll never see her tiny bed becoming an ocean.

And you'll miss her drowning in it.

But what you will know. What you will see, is her frantic arms pulling her out of it. Every morning, she pulls herself from it all. Every day she walks tall, holding her head high with all her might.

And this, she wants you to know. This, you will know. This, will hurt you.

You will see her again. You'll believe she doesn't need you anymore. You'll believe everything you already think is true. You'll believe she's moved on. Moved on so far ahead of you that you'll believe you can't see her anymore.

Because she believes a part of her has. She believes that maybe her lies are truth. Her acts aren't false. And when she believes, she's so good at believing. When she pretends, she's so good at pretending.

Even when it is a lie.

You'll believe this lie. Just like her. You'll never for a minute think that she still has your notes inside a box. That your pictures still fit inside the frames. That your texts are still saved.

But what you don't know is she still carries them inside her back pocket. And she still reads them. She still checks your "I love you"s and "I miss you"s.

Every day.

She looks at her blank inbox. She stares at her silent phone. Begging you to call. Begging for a reason to break.

Needing to fall.

She wants to give into you.

But you never give her a chance.

You stopped giving those away months ago. You stopped calling. You stopped texting. You gave her everything you thought she wanted. You gave her everything she thought she wanted.

And now life is so silent. Summer is so quiet. All she hears is herself begging louder. All she feels is herself needing you more.

It kills her. It hugs her tighter than the humidity that surrounds her.

So she tries so hard to ignore her deafening pleas. She weakly excuses those blinding feelings.

Because she wants to believe she doesn't need you. She needs to not want you.

And what you think and what she doesn't know is that someday she won't have to believe it.

One of these days her pretended beliefs will ring true.

One day she'll dream without you.

And one day she'll wake up happy.

But for now, inside these lazy days that crawl by like a fat slug, you're still there. You're everywhere.

For now she dreams. She dreams her peace. She dreams your love. She dreams herself.

She dreams the same thing every time. She lives the same memory every night.

And it soothes her.

Because what she remembers, what she relives, is that first night from so long ago. She remembers another set of quiet hours. Hours that saved her. Hours that opened her eyes. Hours that breathed so freshly through her lips.

Every night, Spencer remembers your first time.

And every night, she comes to life.

She feels your body. Your body so real on top of hers. So heavy, but not suppressing. So heavy that it beautifully reminds her she's still alive.

She remembers those dimples on your back. She remembers the perfect curl of your lips. And she remembers your soft kisses.

She remembers them drawing up her back that morning. So early. So fresh. She feels you behind her, your arms holding her. So safe. So close.

And she whispers her fading words inside a soft pillow.

_"What are you doing?"_

Your breasts press further into her back, just like the first time. Your breaths swallow her sweaty skin, all over again. She feels your smirk against her spine so strongly. And she hears your loving whisper so crisply,

_"I'm tracing your life line."_

She bares her teeth behind out of practice lips and turns inside her empty bed. She rolls towards a memory, wrapping her arms around a perfect vision.

_"Is that what they're calling it these days?"_

Her closed eyes widen with a tinny laugh. Her sleepy lips form a sloppy smile around its echo.

And just like that breaking morning, she sees you becoming serious. She feels you looking straight into her eyes. You pull her closer, and from the fresh touch, she shivers beneath her suffocating covers. She freezes inside summer's heat.

_"I meant it Spence..."_ She sees your tongue darting across worn in, dry lips _"...I wanna make sure you're gonna be around a while." _

She feels your desperate words clench around her heart. She feels your exposed vulnerability more than the naked skin pressed against hers.

And she pushes further into swollen air.

She threads her legs with blank sheets.

She hugs an empty life beside her.

And she whispers with everything inside her.

_"I'm not going anywhere..."_ her croaky voice slides through blond hair that feels so much like yours, _ "...I mean it, Ashley, I so mean it."_

Her whole body tingles as your lips wash over hers. Her lungs fill with so much warm air. Her eyes feel so heavy.

She feels her life beginning again. Just like that night. She feels love blooming inside her. Just like that moment.

She's not pretending.

She's not lying.

She's not almost believing.

She's remembering.

She's living.

And in an instant, she stops. In an instant, the sun shines. The sun shines and it all disappears.

Every morning, the sun shines inside her and in an instant, she ices over. Wrapped inside the hottest bed, Spencer almost drowns inside the coldest water.

But every morning, Spencer pulls herself out of it.

Every morning, Spencer walks through each day, pretending her truths. Acting her beliefs. Forgetting to remember.

Every morning Spencer's so close. So close to breaking. So close to living. So close to walking past you.

And so close to never looking back.

Because every breathing morning;

Spencer wakes up. 


	5. Fair

_but it's all wrong, you're so strong.  
but this life's work  
and choice took far too long.  
you know i love you.  
you know i love you.  
i want you oh so much._

it's so fair.

when you'd hide  
your songs would die,  
so i'd hide yours with mine. 

---------

A party. That is where you'll see her again. After months of a stifling summer and countless drenched nights, this is where you'll finally speak to her. Weeks into a cruel new school year, full of tense hallway passes and uncomfortable classroom glances, this is where you will look at her, like you used to, and for a brief moment...such a brief fleeting moment she'll look back at you.

You didn't want to go. A Back To School party? Please. That was never your scene. Ashley Davies was far too cool for such an affair. But that was back then, back before Spencer, back when you were a girl you no longer are today. A girl you fortunately left behind with an unfortunately broken heart.

So when that artsy chick with the fake pink and blond and white dreadlocks in your first period Chem lab - what was her name? Heather? Missy? You weren't sure. You only know she stole the seat next to you on the first day of classes, the day you were too lazy [or maybe just too alone, to tell her to leave, and this morning as she told you about the "big blowout at [someone you don't care about's house", you found yourself listening. More than you had listened to anyone in a long while. Since the days of Spencer.

And maybe that's why you listened.

Maybe you thought, with the tiniest hope, that the days of Spencer could become the days of today. Maybe the days of tonight. Because you've seen her in the halls. You've seen her walking taller and stronger than you've ever seen her walk before. Looking like she hasn't needed you at all. Like maybe she's never needed you, and you can't lie and say that thought doesn't hurt you. That that thought wouldn't shatter a broken heart into so many more irreparable little shards.

She's been striding, leaps and bounds, down open hallways, while you crawl, hidden and crouched, down such dark alleys. She's been smiling, toothy and true, while you've been biting back tears. And you still kind of find that unfair, even though she's the one with a dead brother and an equally broken heart.

It's dark out, and you haven't eaten dinner, but that really isn't all that surprising. When have you ever had three meals a day? When has "Mommy Dearest" cared enough to notice your sunken eyes and thin frame? "Mommy Dearest" only cares that you're probably a size 2 now, and how that makes her envy you even more.

You look at the mirror in your shallow house, seeing your reflection even more shallow, like a muddy puddle. Makes you wonder why you're even looking in the first place. Makes you wonder why you want to see how you look through such dirty water.

So you stop looking.

The drive there is full of antsy radio station switching and troubling glimpses in rear view mirrors and speaking to yourself out in the open. Making up fake scenarios, seeing the girl you still think of as "yours", seeing her so beautiful while you whisper "hey" and "I've missed you", and you feel it all so much in your chest that Old Ashley would probably call you a tool. But new Ashley prays it's enough to make New Spencer see you. Prays New Spencer even knows your name.

Your heart skips a beat when you see Glen's car on the street where you're parking. When you see that silly stuffed dice hanging from the front mirror. Just like that first day you met Spencer, when Old Spencer pointed out such a beaten down Honda, with an innocent smirk and squinting shy eyes.

_"And that right there is my usual ride to school. Classy, I know."_

"Oh Miss Cahlin, I believe it's high time we found you a new chauffeur. Someone with undeniable taste and flair. Wonder where you might find such an individual." 

You remember the way your eyes felt as you said such flirtatious words, winking with spark and electricity as you smirked over to her. Right from the start, you wanted her. Right from the start you let her know it, even if she didn't understand it. Even if her eyes smiled innocently, with only slight apprehension, more open than anything you'd ever seen.

You remember everything. Every little thing about that part of your life.

And some days you wish you didn't remember.

And every day you hate yourself for ever trying to forget.

You find yourself still staring at that old Honda with its cruel dice hanging from an old mirror, that still looks the same, and probably feels the same, and the car probably still smells the same. Like boy mixed with a 7-11 air freshener.

You find this unfair as well. But you're not really sure why.

The party is packed, with clouds of smoke from cigarettes and joints, and the fresh smell of stale beer and booze permeates you. There were days when these things used to excite you. When all you had was _this_ very night, and there was a thrill in that. The thrill of being out and alive and a teenager with only everywhere to go.

Tonight these things only make you feel so small. So young. And so stupid.

You trudge your way through the crowd anyway, because you're still Ashley Davies, and New or Old Ashley Davies can break through a crowd better than Moses parting water.

Someone offers you a beer, a boy with a man's smile, and devious eyes, and you read him like a book that's been opened for years, because these kind of boys are as hollow as your reflection in a crooked mirror.

You don't thank him as you take it, because you're not gonna drink it, you're not that dumb. You dump it on a crowded counter and take a water instead, because you still feel dumb, but you might see Spencer, and what a waste that'd be if you were wasted when you saw her.

There's a feeling in your stomach as you scan the crowd. As you lean back on a can covered counter, hands resting on the tiles behind you, feeling the grime and not really caring. You spot him before he spots you and a lifetime of regret and happiness floods through you and you wonder how that's possible. How so much joy and pain can be wrapped up in one single person. In one single asshole idiot who you once thought was your whole life. Who had created another life inside you.

Makes you wonder if maybe you're the real asshole idiot.

And then he sees you and that pit in your stomach only expands, like it's wanting out, but there is no way out, and you only realize that more and more as he walks toward you.

"Hey Ash."

Cringing and internally vomiting, idly wondering if it's a bad sign that hearing your own name makes you sick, you look back to him with grimace in your eyes. Because if you were to be honest, and you really are trying to be honest, you still blame him for a lot of what _you_ did wrong. You still see Aiden Dennison as the bearer of your broken heart, and Spencer's broken heart, and Clay's dead body, and your unborn child, and the way everyone in school started talking about that slut dyke Ashley Davies.

A world full of troubles, and you've wrapped it all up in a stupid little boy, and you don't feel all that bad about it. Honestly, you don't care a single ounce, because it's so much easier to believe.

Because surely you can't be the only one who's done so much wrong.

"Hey."

You don't even look at him, because you're not sure you actually can without actually vomiting, and he understands this because he's known you for what feels like forever and you hate that. You hate that he still _knows_ you when you wish you never knew him.

"How was your summer?"

You notice he also looks a little thin and a lot broken and for a second you wonder if he's struggled as much as you have. If he's felt as bad for the things he said and did as you have for the things you _didn't_ do and say. Because you haven't talked to him, not once, since that night of prom. And somewhere in the back of your mind, or maybe very close to the front of it, you have a feeling you'll never see him again.

Maybe you never saw him to begin with.

"Horrible. Yours?"

Quick, brutal, and to the point. Just like Ashley Davies, because something tells you that filtered bitter honesty will never leave you, no matter what version of yourself you become.

He laughs, like he's uncomfortable, or maybe relieved. Because the show's over, the fake conversation has ended and he understands he doesn't have to pretend anymore. He understands it was stupid to ever pretend in the first place.

"The same."

And then it's silent, filled with awkwardness and flashes of all your past lives, and you don't think you can take it anymore. You're not even sure he wants to take any more of it either, so you cough, even though you don't have to.

"I'm gonna get some fresh air. Later."

He only nods, because he knows you and he knows you want out, and that doesn't bother you this time. Because now you can leave without feeling guilty.

The air feels like the present, bitter and harsh, and it wipes away everything from the past, all of the Aiden Dennison's buried deep inside all of _your_ regret. Hugging yourself, you feel a chill having nothing to do with the fall air, or the crisp moon. This chill has to do with proximity, and the good feeling you always get in your stomach when _she_ is near. When _she_ is looking at you.

You want to smile and die inside when you realize that chill might never leave you either.

You want to smile and die inside when you realize she _is_ near and she _is_ looking at you.

And now you're looking at her. Out across the back yard. Standing between a keg and her big brother, and your heart aches because the perfect family picture looks so sad and empty and nothing like it used to look like. Nothing like you've known. And your heart aches because you realize just how much is missing from the Carlins as a whole, and not just from the one member who means the most to you.

Her eyes lock with yours from over a red Solo cup, and you expect her to look away any minute, because that's what she's been doing for weeks now inside King High's halls, but she doesn't. She keeps looking like she doesn't think you can see her, and you wonder if she's drunk. You really hope she's not. Because this one moment means more to you than anything has in a really long time, and what a waste that would be if she were wasted.

Finally that protective plastic cup falls back at her side, and you take in the yellow tank top she has on, and the short black skirt, and the unzipped sweatshirt and the tan flip flops. Looking every bit the Spencer Carlin you wanted from the start, and probably loved from the start.

She looks skinnier, but not in an unhealthy way. Not in the "I've been so depressed I've starved myself into oblivion" way your reflection has revealed to you.

You want to wave. You want to scream. You want to cry. Maybe you want to do all three, because she's still looking at you, like a dare or a threat or a question, and you're not sure how to answer any of those. Her brother's talking wildly to a boy next to the keg next to Spencer. A boy who seems like he's listening to Glen but looks like he's really paying attention to Spencer.

You don't like his eyes looking at _your_ Spencer, you don't like the way a keg can suddenly seem so small between two people, you feel so enraged by the way Spencer's eyes leave yours for his. And you don't feel unfair for this anger. You find your jealousy to be the most real and fair thing you've felt in so long.

But she's still not looking at you anymore, so you have to ask yourself, selfish as always, how much fairness there is when the girl you love is looking at someone else.

A sigh leaves you, like it were over. Like all this anticipation and anxiety and lines spoken out loud in silent cars were for nothing. And maybe Old Ashley was right about New Ashley. Maybe New Ashley really is a tool and a heartbroken fool who might never find the pieces to put it all back together.

And maybe _that_ is what's really fair.

Resigned and defeated, you walk over to a chair on the deck, because you're not really sure where else to go. You're not sure an empty broken home is the place for your empty broken heart, and maybe this is the place to be. Maybe lost inside a crowd of other lost people is where you'll always belong.

When you sit down, that girl with the dreads steals the seat next to you, and it's funny how everything feels so much like Chem lab suddenly. How she still has those bleeding and dirty doodles on the back of her hand, and how her pierced nose looks just as pierced under the rays of teenage adolescence, as opposed to the fluorescent lights of school.

"You came!"

She's so excited to see you, and a little part of you, the old dead part, feels the thrill in being wanted. Feels the security in still being desired.

"Looks like it."

But you don't want _her_. You don't desire _her_. You're not really sure you desire _anyone_. Anyone but the girl who lost everything because of you.

Missy or Heather or Aiden [for all you know and care keeps talking about her life, and about her views on the Bush Administration, and how Oprah is really the anti-feminist, and whatever twisted logic she has that she thinks is cool because it's the opposite of what everyone else thinks. Of everything that is actually probably true.

Your eyes crawl back to the yard, searching for the reason you bothered coming to this place, because it's certainly not the reason sitting and yapping next to you.

But she's not there.

Your stomach drops when you think of all the places she could be.

Pushed up against the pool house in the bushes. Lips searching for a boy next to a keg that has a man's smile and devious eyes.

Listening to some girl whisper in her ear in the line for the bathroom, leaning closer so she can smell her shampoo and her perfume.

Crying to herself in that very bathroom for her dead brother and her ailing heart and that girl she used to date but now hates and how she's just showed up at this party.

You swallow, hard, because this is not the place for you anymore.

"Hey."

You swallow, harder, because now she's here, standing above you, looking neither angry or happy. Looking somewhere in between, or nowhere between. Maybe she's firmly placed inside indifference.

"Hi."

You finally whisper, mentally cursing yourself for taking so long and not speaking louder. Knowing if you blow this, simply for not greeting her perfectly, you might never forgive yourself.

"Mind if I?"

She points to the spot next to you, and you're surprised to find it empty. You're not all that surprised Chem lab girl up and left you, probably later than she should have, because doesn't she realize? Hasn't she seen? No one sticks with Ashley Davies for that long.

"Yeah. Yes." You take a deep breath, like it were for composure, but you think it's really for futile support, "Of course."

You whisper that last part, because it just feels more sincere that way. Because your eyes are looking at her so softly, and you think your words should reflect that warmth.

She sheds her hoodie as she sits beside you, and you have to stop yourself from looking. From admiring and remembering, every inch of that tan flawless skin. The way it felt and tasted against your lips and tongue.

"It's hot out tonight, huh?"

Sitting forward, sweatshirt draped in her lap beneath her elbows, she looks out ahead of her, holding that Solo cup between her hands. You take a moment to answer, and not because you don't agree with her and need to find the words to say that nicely, not because you feel so frozen on this "hot" night and you're not sure how to say that in an 'appropriate' manner, but because you don't understand this conversation. You don't find it fair. Of all the things to say to each other, after days of painful tears, and months of hard lonely nights, the weather is not what you want to share with her.

"Yeah. I guess it is."

But you know what's fair is doing what she wants. Speaking what she needs, so you do. You put her ahead of you. Where she's always been, and will probably always be. And you're ok with that.

Finally she leans back, like she were getting comfortable, like she's _not_ just gonna up and leave at any moment [like you've done for practically your whole life. She crosses her legs, toward you and you feel stupidly happy about it.

Tilting her head to the left, her eyes look at you like that first day you met and that first night you touched, and every day you were together. And it makes you want to cry, so damn much, because it's hard enough to remember those memories by yourself, but having to see them in front of you, in front of her, is like the most painful torture.

You think you might actually be crying, one tear just dropping down your cheek, as you bite your lip and your tongue at the same time, hoping no one can see it. Hoping _she_ doesn't see the way you can't stop your chin from trembling, and your eyes from watering and the memories from flooding and guilt from overflowing.

You're hoping she doesn't remember and know you in the same way that Aiden knew and remembered you. And then you feel so terrible, so guilty, because how could you ever wish for that? How could you hate Spencer remembering you?

And now she's standing, probably getting ready to walk away because it's that time to leave Ashley behind. Because maybe New Spencer is mean but really brave and smart and knows when to guard herself, when to cut herself off. Knows that Ashley is Ashley, no matter what version she's pretending to be, and maybe Spencer should never have sat down in the first place.

You can't take this. This wasn't how this night was supposed to go. You really don't think you can take another moment of messing up, starting to think you should have shouted your greeting, and hugged her and apologized right away.

"Hey, you mind giving me a ride home?"

Tears remain in your eyes as you look up to her, absolutely befuddled, because _that_ was not what you were expecting. A smile, that feels much more like a hug, spreading across Spencer's face was not what you thought you'd see. You thought you might never see that smile directed at you again.

"Of course."

You don't even stutter as you say your reply, with more certainty and strength than you've been able to muster in longer than you can remember.

She only smiles. But this time it doesn't feel so much like a hug.

The walk to your car is quiet and crowded and awkward, and there's a short distance between you two that's never felt so wide. That's never felt so cold and open. But you try not to think about it. You try not to feel the sharp pain of rejection as she jumps when your hands brush together. Scolded and burned from just your slightest touch.

You feel so cold inside as you try to remember that same first day memory again, when you catch a glimpse of Glen's old Honda that still looks the same. Catching Spencer's eyes there as well, you wonder if she's remembering the same thing.

Seeing them so blue and blank, you wonder if Spencer remembers anything.

And the ride's not much better than the walk, full of fingers twisting, and coughs taking up the silent space, and it's so unbelievably sad. Not just for the people you both have lost, or the broken hearts that are still somehow beating. But the loss of the ability to talk, to look, to fill in the silence with words and voices that used to meld in harmony.

Those voices won't even dare to clash in collision tonight.

You feel sick to your stomach as you turn down her street, knowing your time is almost over, and you can't take the stations changing anymore, and the silence that feels stretched too thin, so you flip on a CD that hasn't left your stereo since May. Pathetically. The CD that has the scribbled title of some sappy Coldplay song that Spencer loves, or maybe she only used to love, because now the words like "look how they shine for you" seem pointless and painful and maybe Spencer's life is too full of pain for useless words like those.

You want to cringe as the chorus turns the awkwardness into pain, breaking open old wounds. You don't even chance looking into her eyes to see if there's recognition there. Too afraid to see there isn't any there.

"You still listen to this?'

But there is recognition, and pain, in Spencer's voice as you pull up to her house.

"Of course."

Those two words seem to keep coming back to you, and you wish there were more to say, because there really is more to say, but now doesn't feel like the time. You feel utterly broken believing the time might never come.

"Oh."

The lights surrounding Spencer's front door do nothing to lift the darkness that rests behind it. You may not know anything about that darkness, but you know it's there.

"Thanks for driving me home. I just didn't feel like hanging out there because, you know how I am -" She stops short, like she realizes what a mistake the past was, and how much more of a mistake it was to bring the horrible past back into this even more awful present, "...Well, it doesn't matter. But thanks again." She sighs, sounding like your earlier defeat, and finally, finally, you look at her. Because you can't take not looking at her any longer. Because you already regret wasting all these precious minutes inside a small car with the girl you love and lost and how you couldn't look at her. You know you'll regret this so much more tomorrow morning, so much more you might actually become physically ill.

"You're welcome."

She's looking at you, biting her lip, and for a moment she looks like that girl from the day at the beach when you gave her your "girls guide to dating". You still feel so ashamed for that guide. For what a crock it was, and all those promises you were making, even back then, that you'd never be able to fulfill. All the games and backwards words you were spilling, when you really should have taken her hand and her heart, with so much protection, love, and care, and whispered how it was her you wanted.

Her and no one else.

"Well, goodnight."

You never knew goodnight could hurt so bad.

"Yeah. Goodnight."

And then there's a pause, a heartbreaking pause, because you kind of know what's gonna happen. You know what this is about. Because once again, it's about how badly _you've_ messed up with your whispered hello's and quick quiet goodbyes.

"That's it?"

You feign confusion.

"What?"

"Goodnight. That's it? That's all you have to say to me?"

Tears that look so much like yours, but colder and wetter, fill her eyes.

"There is so much more I want to say to you."

You don't whisper. You _really_ say it. You don't break. But it looks like you've broken her, because there are more tears flowing, like rivers of the pain and the past, and you want to stop them, but you know you shouldn't. You know those kind of rivers need to be released.

"So much."

So you whisper again. And she turns away, looking at her house, like it were a parent or a teacher, like she were needing guidance and permission to do this. Or maybe she just needs the strength of the darkness, because when she turns back to you, there are no more tears, no more breaking, no more hugs. Only a lifetime full of loss and pain and regret, and it's all facing _you_.

"So say it."

And you're not sure what your face shines for her now, but you are sure it reflects only an ounce of what shines from her face. A fraction of the pain and loss and regret that she stores inside.

It's so unfair, you know it is, and finally, finally you wish for the _right_ kind of fairness.

"Ok..."

Finally, you give her the only fairness you can.


	6. Push And Pull

_you push and you pull  
and struggle with the knot  
it's tying you up while you're fading  
you give and you take  
and take what you got  
round and round 'till it breaks_

__

-----------

You have no idea how you wound up here, back inside a lifetime of memories, back inside _her_ bedroom. You swore the day you walked out of it, so long ago, that you would never walk back through it. You would never put yourself back in _this_ place.

"Do you want something to drink or anything?

But here you are, never the less, standing inside the middle of your not-so-forgotten past, because this is where _she_ wanted to talk. This is where she wanted the words to be said. You wonder if the decision, her decision, to come back here had ulterior motives. You wonder if the Ashley standing before you is the calculating Ashley you've always known, and if bringing you here was just another part of her conniving plan.

"No. I'm ok."

Standing inside this room, that doesn't look as familiar anymore, doesn't look right without those lavender candles and that lavender comforter covering her still too familiar bed. You're not sure you like this room without your lavender past, and suddenly, you start to wonder if maybe you're calculating too. Maybe you're playing her game. Because you really weren't that drunk, and you didn't really want to leave that party and the minute you saw her, you couldn't stop yourself from going to her.

And maybe in the tiniest smidgen of a maybe, you were hoping this is where she'd take you when you asked for a ride home.

Your eyes crawl across that bed with all its soft surfaces and dangerous planes; memories of limbs tied and tongues compromised flood through you. When you see that the bed has a sky colored comforter now, you think about how much you love the color blue.

And you wonder if Ashley remembers that.

You wonder if Ashley remembers anything.

"You want to?"

She points to the couch, _your_ couch, and as you sit down you have to stop yourself from remembering all the times you fucked her right on this couch while she straddled your lap. You painfully remember how it used to be "making love", and you wonder when it became "fucking", because Spencer Carlin was a soft and gentle girl. Spencer Carlin wasn't the fucking type.

And it makes you want to cry for the girl you were and no longer are.

But this is the girl you are now, and you want this done with. Because any more time spent on this fucking couch, next to this fucking girl would be another fucking minute wasted inside your fucking past.

"So what did you want to tell me?"

There is no Spencer head tilt or shy Spencer eyes. There is nothing in the past, only the present, and you think she sadly notices and you think you're happy about that. But you sadly realize you're only _trying_ to be happy about that.

"Oh. Ok, um, well..." You see Ashley bite her lip, and hold her tongue, and maybe there are tears in her eyes already, and you'd really hate it if she cried again, because that's _really_ not fair in your book. She has no right to cry, "...God, I've pictured this moment so many times. I've played it in my mind over and over again, all the things I'd say to you, all the things I needed to say, and now that I have it, now that you're here, I can't think of a single thing to say."

This does not comfort you. And the minutes are just racking up and up, too many of them spent on this love-sex couch, too much of a lifetime spent sat close to this dangerously comforting girl.

"Say it."

You need this to be done with. And maybe she does too because she nods without a lip bitten or a tongue tied. Looking ready, possibly more ready than you, and just like a typical girl you never thought you'd become, it upsets you. Upsets you _so_ much.

"Ok..." There's a deep breath, and it bothers you just as much as the almost tears, and you're starting to believe her simply breathing is what really kills you, "...Firstly, I want to say I'm sorry Spencer..." Again, you are not comforted by this, these useless apologies are what you expected, because that's Ashley Davies for you, act first, apologize later, and you're not all that surprised that _that_ hasn't changed, "...I'm so unbelievably sorry that Clay died, and I'm even sorry for that apology because I'm sure it sounds flat and contrived, and how could words ever make up for what you lost, but I have to say it because not a day goes by where I don't think about you. About what you went through and what you are going through and how damn much I wish it weren't true. About how much I wish you peace and relief from such pain. Every day, I wish that, Spencer."

_That_ you were not expecting. You weren't expecting such sincerity, without any traces of calculation. You weren't expecting her voice to break and her eyes to water, and you are surprised that you're ok with it. You are disbelieving by how much it moves you too.

She looks nowhere but your eyes, and you wish you could turn away, you really wish you could, but really - how could you? Not with those eyes. Not with those lips. Not with that smile. Not when so much of _her_ has _your_ name on it.

So much of Ashley Davies still belongs to Spencer Carlin, and you're really not sure how you feel about that.

"Secondly, I want to say I'm sorry Spencer..." You're starting to see where this is going, and you think _this_ is what might kill you, not her breathing, but her words that hit too deep and too close and that actually sound real, sound true, and that's a sound you haven't heard in her voice for a long while, possibly ever, "...I'm sorry that I wasn't there when Clay was shot. I'm sorry I wasn't there when he died. I'm sorry I wasn't there for the days after. I should have been there, by your side day in and day out, because that's where I wanted to be. Where I needed to be. Because there was nowhere else for me but beside you. You were the only person that mattered, and if you were hurting, not only was I hurting too, but I wanted to hurt with you, so maybe I could somehow make it better, if only a little bit. I should have been strong for you, to help you stand, not fall. I'm sorry for crumbling when you needed stability. And I know these words are meaningless, I know words can't change the past, and it's what we do, not what we say, that really matters. But these words are all I have left, and if that's all I have, that's not even close to what you deserve. But it's the best I can do."

There are tears in your eyes, and you wish they'd bite back like the tongue in your mouth, caught between your teeth. You taste the blood and you wonder why you're hurting yourself instead of hurting her. You then remember the taste of _her_ blood on your tongue from that one day, so long ago, when you beat and broke her and it didn't make you feel any better. Didn't feel any better than the blood you taste in your own mouth from your own pain.

Makes you wonder what you're still doing _here_ listening to _her_ words that taste a little too much like a combination of her blood and your blood mixed in nothing but pain.

And that concoction is a little too bitter, more than a little too unfair for you to take, because what's ailed her hasn't even touched what's ailed you.

"Thirdly, I want to say I'm sorry Spencer..." Sorry's becoming too hard to hear, because it's sounding too much like the truth, and your eyes are closing as she keeps going, you can't even look at her, because her voice keeps shaking, keeps crumbling, keeps sounding like _your_ voice, "...I'm sorry for the prom and not answering you right away, for not reaffirming that _you_ were _my_ choice. That you were my only choice, that there _never_ was a choice to begin with because ever since I first saw you I haven't been able to see anyone else. Ever since you came into my life, I can't remember anyone else inside it. There's only you. Only. You..." Her voice strengthens, making sure there's no room for doubt, and you think it might be too late for a room without doubt, might be too late to believe her words, no matter how sturdy they are, "...I should have shouted that to you, Spencer, I should have shouted it so loud, as loud as it blares inside my heart. You were my only one. You _are_ my only one. And I think I might be sorry for this till the day I die, Spence, I think my biggest failure, in a long history of failures, is that one moment where I made you doubt the entire existence of my love for you. The fact that all it took was one single moment, a single second, for you to doubt me."

This room with its too familiar glow on the walls, and scent in the air - an ethereal blend of lavender, summer, and Ashley, or maybe that's just what Ashley is made of - is overwhelming, and you taste her in your mouth. Not the blood, but her pleasure and her love and her desire and you never knew one room and one person could be the threshold for all your emotion. For maybe your whole life. It makes you both sad and sickly happy to be back here inside it, next to her, and it's in this very moment where you think it's time to get up and leave because if you don't...if you don't you're afraid you might stay forever.

"Lastly, I want to say I'm sorry Spencer..." You might stay forever and when you look down, you see her holding your hands, you see yourself holding hers and you have no idea when that happened, but you're relieved for it, relieved there's something to hold onto. That there's _her_ to hold onto, because in a brief moment of unadulterated honesty, you will fully admit that it's _her_ you miss holding the most, "...I'm sorry for what went wrong with us, for pushing you away even though I promised I wouldn't. For hurting you, even though I said I didn't want to. For running to Aiden when I should have been running to you. I'm sorry I was selfish, so selfish. I'm sorry for _this_ the most, Spencer, because if it weren't for _this_ than there'd only be one heartbreaking apology. You'd only hurt once, but I'd be there for you, and maybe..." She can barely get it out, she can barely say this next part, but she doesn't really have to because,

"...maybe you'd still love me."

You knew it's exactly what she'd say. You knew this was exactly what you came here for. What she wanted you _here_ for. She's not sorry for anything, she's not sorry for how she lost you, for everything she did wrong, she's only sorry she _lost_ you. Her pretty prize, her reward for such bullshit.

Well you're not crying anymore, and you're not tasting her love, and you're far from running from her. Because now it's your turn to let her know why she should be sorry. It's time to make her understand how important words actually _are_ and how they're far from useless and how much they could have changed it all. How much would have been different if the words she gave you actually meant something. If she actually believed them as much as you did.

"Spence?"

You see it in her eyes, the disappointment that you're not pulling her in your arms with joy, the surprise that her silly sorry's didn't work, because how couldn't they? She's sweet and sexy Ashley Davies, and this is sweet and naive Spencer Carlin, and how could she not fall for it?

"I changed my mind about that drink..."

But she doesn't know that _that_ Spencer Carlin is long gone. There's only this girl now, a skewed reflection of the girl beside you, and she's just as calculating. She's just as sexy and sweet and conniving.

And it's time Ashley Davies, selfish and cold, knew it. 

-----------

The truth is you know this bottle of Jack Daniel's is more than compromising. More than a bad idea, and in the back of your mind, you know nothing good is _probably_ going to come out of the rest of this night.

In the farthest recesses of your mind, you realize this might permanently end this relationship.

Spencer Carlin might become a distant memory after tonight. One you'll never forget, but you'll try to, as hard as you can, and you think that might kill you. You think wishing to not remember Spencer Carlin might be the worst kind of self inflicted punishment.

"Here."

But you hand her that shot glass anyway, the girl of your dreams, your precious and perfect Spencer Carlin, because her eyes are still so blue, and her lips are still so sweet, and you don't want to lose them tonight, even if tonight might cost you forever.

"Thanks."

She's cold and distant. You know she wants nothing from you and you're not all that surprised by that. You knew your words wouldn't get you very far, but you had to say them, you had to give them to her, and maybe it was selfish because it might have been done for you more than for her, but you still believe you've changed from _that_ Ashley Davies.

You still believe you are a different girl. Which you might be.

"It's my turn now."

But you don't see that this girl across from you, she's changed too.

"What?"

This Spencer Carlin is _not_ "your" girl. Not the girl you once knew.

"It's my turn to tell _you_ what _I_ have to say."

There's a strange, unsettling, smirk on her lips. You wonder if that second downed shot of whiskey has turned her drunk, because you knew she wasn't drunk on the ride home. You were kind of mindlessly thrilled at the notion that maybe she wasn't asking for a ride home, but a chance to ride with you.

"Ok. Tell me." You swallow hard, bracing yourself for what you thought you wanted, "Please."

And then she laughs, so cynically that you think it cracks your heart a little, cracks it _a lot_. Because she _is_ drunk, and the fact that it still only takes very little to do that to your little girl is so depressing for reasons you can't comprehend.

The way the lilt in her laughter has become so bitter is so depressing for reasons you don't _want_ to comprehend.

"I think your apologies _are_ useless, Ashley, but not for the words. Not for those words. They're useless, _Ash_, because I think I hate you." A stomach turning grin that looks more sad than anything you've ever seen breaks across her face, reflects the one cracking yours. Never knew a nickname, your nickname, could sound so much like a heart breaking, like two hearts breaking.

"I hate you for having to make a choice back then, and acting like it never was one now. I hate that you don't understand that words _do_ mean something. How much your words meant to me, and now that you call them meaningless makes me hate them and you even more." She doesn't bother with a shot glass this time, instead taking a far too natural swig from a far too unnatural jaded bottle, and you're trying so hard not to cry, because you think she'd get even more mad, so you bite your tongue so hard, you taste the blood, and you listen, "...I hate you for giving up, even though I was asking you to, I hate that you listened. I hate that you let me go. And now, after it's all said and done, even though you're _so_ sorry, you're still letting me go."

Confusion, unmasked and unfeigned, flashes across your face, because what is _that_ supposed to mean? _Those_ words, sounding like some kind of pseudo-confession, were not what you were expecting, and you feel a small part in you, a part you thought had died, slowly coming back to life. Slowly blooming a very dangerous piece of hope in a place hope should not live.

In a place called forgiveness.

"I hate that life is so different..." You have no more time to analyze what her words from before meant, because her words from now are far more important, _these_ are the words you were hoping for, the ones she'd share with you when you weren't an italicized Ash, "...I hate how everything is so different, but we pretend it's still the same. We all pretend life is back to normal, and that we're still that perfect family, even though there's someone missing. Because mom doesn't care anymore. She doesn't get mad at me for missing church, or for eating dessert before dinner. Those things that used matter, don't now, and somehow I miss it. Because when my mother was an uptight bitch who annoyed me beyond belief, she was at least an uptight bitch that cared. At least I knew who she was, and I knew she wasn't pretending to love me."

Tears prick your eyes, but you hold them back, no matter how badly you want to cry for _her_, because you know she'll only see it as you crying for _you_.

"I hate that Glen doesn't even try to be funny anymore, and when he holds a glass of beer he looks a little too much like my Dad, and that scares me. That scares me so much, because Dad isn't Dad when he drinks, kind of like I've also lost my father when my brother died, and now I think I might be losing my other brother too. I might be losing my mother. I might have lost my entire family with one bullet. Because Mom doesn't care, and Glen isn't an asshole, and Dad..." She sniffles, breaking inside her cynicism, allowing the truth and the innocence lost to come out, and if this is what you thought you wanted, you're afraid of who you've become, because how could you _ever_ want to see any of this in your Spencer, "...Dad doesn't cook his famous chili anymore, doesn't cook anything, and sometimes I think he's forgotten how. Because Dad's eyes aren't quite as blue as they used to be, and that scares me. It makes me wonder if my eyes still look like his. I'm afraid the life and color have been dulled and muddied just the same."

"They haven't." You can't stop yourself, and for a fleeting second she looks up at you with a world full of tears sitting on her red eyelids, eyes bluer than the comforter you bought for her, and she looks so much like your Spencer, that you can't stop the tears in your eyes from finally flowing over, and you don't want to stop them because maybe your tears mean more than your words, "...your eyes. They're still blue."

You feel stupid for saying this, but than you remember Spencer's words and you remember that she wants to hear something from you that she can believe in because it's something _you_ believe in too. And you know that when you tell her, when you tell Spencer that her eyes are as blue as they've always been, you're really telling her that she's still the beautiful and perfect girl you've always known, even if she is broken, even if she is imperfect, she's still the same.

And you think you're starting to understand how important words are.

And you hope Spencer sees you understanding.

You think she might, because there is no more whiskey, and there are no more smirks. There is only _Spencer_.

"I hate that my brother died. I hate it so much, Ash, and I don't know what to do with that, because sometimes I don't hate that he died because I miss him. I-I hate that Clay died because of what it's done to the rest of us. I miss what my family used to be. Like it were Clay's fault or something, and how selfish is that? How...how awful..." She shakes her head, like a plea to take it all away, so much anger flooding through her words, biting more and more, "...I hate that my brother died at a prom where _my_ girlfriend couldn't decide whether she loved _me_ or _her_ ex boyfriend. I hate that _that_ memory of indecision is what sometimes hits me most about that night. Not those gunshots going off in the background, piercing my brothers chest. Not the screams or cries, a soundtrack to his death. No, those excruciating seconds where the girl I loved looked at me like she _just wasn't that sure_, those are the moments that stay with me and haunt me and kill me most. And I hate that. I hate that my brother was shot and _that's_ what I think about. I hate that Clay was shot and almost every day I wish Aiden was shot instead. And then I hate myself for wishing such a terrible thing on someone else - even if I hate that person too."

Suddenly there's silence, and you don't know why but you plead "Spence-" like you just can't stand hearing every word of what you deserve.

"And I do hate you, Ashley, I really do."

But she's crying, and it doesn't sound at all like she means it, and you find yourself almost wishing she _did_ mean it, because maybe it'd be easier for her. Maybe she'd find her way back to the Spencer Carlin that existed before Ashley Davies.

And maybe the day Spencer Carlin met Ashley Davies is what really killed Spencer's family.

So you tell her what you think is right, what you think will solve this, like a band aid could heal a bullet wound. "Hate me, Spence."

"Stop." She howls, voice screeching like a rubber band stretched too far, "...stop calling me that!"

Your heart aches so much that you fear it might never recover.

"Hate me, Spencer, please. Hate me forever."

You don't recognize the voice that's cracking from your lips, as her head shakes more and more, hands rubbing her tired and red eyes, and as you get a whiff of whiskey you think you might vomit. You think whiskey's been ruined for the rest of your life, because the next time you see Jack Daniels, you know you'll only see this girl before you. This heartbreaking version of Spencer Carlin.

And even though you think this might be the last time you ever see this girl, in any version, you know Jack Daniels will never let you forget.

You think Jack Daniels might break your heart for Spencer Carlin till the day you die.

"Please, Spencer. If that will make you ok, please, _please_, hate me."

"You don't get it, Ashley!" There is no sound, no nothing, as she finally looks back to you, and for once you _actually_ feel scared. "...God, you just don't get it. You don't get that I _can't_ hate you. That I'm afraid I might never hate you, because - because I still love you, Ashley." She's talking so fast you don't know if you heard her right, you pray you didn't and you pray you did all at the same time, because you have no idea what's fair anymore, but you know the tears falling down your face are neither, you know those tears are only real and true, "...And maybe that is what I hate most. Maybe my _unconditional_ love for you is what might kill me, because everyday, just when I think I've passed you by and I've moved on and I don't need you anymore, I'll see you in the quad, just a glimpse, or I'll pass you in the hall, for just a second, and just like that I'll feel you again. I'll feel you in my chest, like you never left and it aches and hurts so much because you did leave me and I'm all alone and how could I ever miss someone who could do that to me..." You think you hear your sobs, you think you hear them mixing with hers, and even in such immense sadness, your voice still collides with hers beautifully, and you hate that _that_ is what you're thinking about, "...but I do, Ashley. I do miss you. So much. And I still need you. So much. And I still love you. Too much. And I wish that'd go away. Because somehow, when everything in my life died, you didn't. Your love is the only thing that survived."

She stops, out of breath, tired and worn, and looking like she's just fought the biggest battle of her life. And you slowly begin to realize that might have nothing to do with you. You begin to believe her biggest battle is one with herself, and you have no idea how to fix that. You wish you knew, you wish so bad to fix _her_ but you can't fix her. So you do what you can, what you know.

Contact. Your body around hers, that is what you know, what you've come to know best, so you reach for her with your brazen arms, with your shaking hands.

But you don't get very far.

"No."

She swats them away, head still shaking, hands going to wipe at her eyes, so furiously you know it has to hurt. So you try again, with your body shuffling closer on the couch that you will always see as the place where her fingers first entered you.

"Stop it Ashley." She physically pushes you this time, and you're not even fazed by it, not even deterred. Convinced you could never be stopped, you move closer, practically on top of her, and you're starting to wonder if this is an attempt to hug or to fight, "...I mean it, Ashley, let me go."

She's up now, moving away, and you're chasing her, hearing those words from before - _"I hate that you listened."_ - holding on to those words with your shaking hands as you chase after the girl who's not even running away from you.

_"I hate that you let me go."_

"Spencer, please."

_"I hate that you listened._

"NO!" A strangled cry leaves her quivering lips, looking like the picture of a broken apart girl. So broken apart you think the cracked shell has taken the girl you used to know and still love with it. "Please, Ashley, please just go away, get away, please. Please. Please. Please."

Her voice is trailing and losing itself in nothing but pain, and the only thing her "please"s sound like they're begging for is you. Begging for you to get close and hold on, not get away and let go, so you finally rush to her. Determined and protective, willing to piece her back together, needing to find that shell and glue it and shape it back into Spencer Carlin, because you truly know you'd never forgive yourself if that girl was lost forever.

Your arms wrap around her, so tight, so controlling, and she doesn't even fight this time. She wraps around you too, _finally_, clasping her hands around your body. Holding you tight, holding you closer than close, as her face fits into that crook in your neck, like it's never been anywhere else. You don't know whether to cry or smile because of that, you think you do a little of both in the crook of her neck.

You can feel her lips pressed to your salty-from-her-tears skin, feel them not kissing, but not unmoving. Like she were talking without words against you, and suddenly you feel like you've never understood her more. Finally you speak her language with your wet lips pressed to her hot neck, both whispering such pained kisses inside even more broken skin. Hands start moving across backs, grasping and clinging, twisting and tying.

"I. Miss. You."

Enunciated into your neck, with a shaky sturdiness, like she had to admit a fact she never ever wanted to admit. And it pulls your hands to her face, to her tear stained skin that you're now covering with your guilt covered fingers, cupping and holding like it were more delicate than life itself [because _she _is. You lean your forehead to hers, morphing yourself into that wall she needed so long ago, and still needs today.

Morphing yourself into someone who can fit into forever, instead of never again.

Her eyes are closed so tight that you see so many sad wrinkles spreading from the corners, tears somehow leaking between them. And when you feel her head shaking against yours, you know she knows what you're going to say, and you know she thinks she can't hear it. You know she thinks she doesn't want to hear it, but you need to say it.

"I miss _you_. I need _you_. I love _you_. So. Much."

Whispered, soft and true, and nothing like the way she said it just before. This was a fact you've been dying to admit. And when her eyes finally squint open, because you don't think they can open any more than that, too worn out from so many hard tears, you think she's been dying to admit more. You think she wants so much more from you.

And before you can think about it any longer, before you can morph into anything else, she bites your lips between hers. She grabs your face by her fingers in your hair, chasing after something you're not sure she'll ever find, but you're still not stopping yourself from helping her find it anyway. You're not stopping her from morphing you into what _she_ needs.

Because maybe you're not as different as you thought you were.

"Please Ash."

_"I still miss you."_

As her lips pinch every ounce of your skin, every inch of your neck and your lips and your tongue, biting down, you think you might sadly be the same Ashley Davies you've always been. You might still be the most selfish girl you've ever known, and that pains you more than you still realize, but you still won't stop her.

_"I still need you."_

As she throws you down to the bed, looking lost between the girl you knew and the girl you see, you realize _this_ is what will really kill you, and yet you still won't stop it. Because when she whispers how much she hates you in your ear, reaching for your heart, you don't feel her hate at all.

_"I still love you._

All you feel is how much she used to love you.

And how the day Spencer Carlin walked into Ashley Davies life was the day both those girls died. 


End file.
